


Don't Go

by nastyK



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU: Jamie is immortal, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Mako isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyK/pseuds/nastyK
Summary: “What will you do?”“Let’s not talk about this, yeah?”“Jamison—”“Mako.”“Jamison, I’m not like you.”“Stop.”“I won’t live forever.”





	Don't Go

**Author's Note:**

> Heehoo hi I wrote something! Haven't done that in a while, huh? Anyway it's short, hope you guys like it! It's angsty because I suck. You've been warned!

His panting and moaning were ragged and loud, as it ever was. Jamison had his arms wrapped around Mako’s thick neck as he straddled on his lap; Mako rapidly thrust upwards, penetrating Jamison. The air was hot between them but not around them, so the sweat beads that formed on their bodies would cool almost instantly. Hot and cold and yet Mako was relentless. Quiet though. He was more quiet than usual. His movements were strong and fast, almost like he wanted to be done soon. Jamison still took it all and didn’t take it to heart; he lulled his head back and whined with each powerful thrust.

It wasn’t long before Jamison started leaking precome, and it only took a little more for Mako to come close to spilling himself inside him. “Fuck!” Jamison cried as he tightened up and curled against Mako’s gut. The soft, warm tightness of Jamison's hole was enough to send Mako over the edge and soon Jamison was overflowing as Mako slowly, carefully pulled out of him. Jamison gasped when the head peeked out of his body. Once emptied of Mako, Jamison tugged at his own dick, trying to bring himself a little more pleasure. It didn’t take long for him to come all over Mako’s gut. He let out a breathy cackle and propped himself against Mako, sweat and come mixing as his torso rubbed against Mako’s belly. Jamison ran his fingers through Mako’s hair, kissed his neck and then his lips but Mako didn’t move. He bit lightly into Mako’s lower lip, tugging playfully to perhaps get a reaction out of the bigger man. Nothing. He stopped doing that and moved to Mako’s cheek and then his earlobe, sucking and nibbling.

“Still perfect,” Jamison whispered. All Mako did was instinctively move his head away from Jamison’s lips. Jamison, too high on pleasure, didn't quite notice what was happening. “So, so good and perfect, a ten all the way,” he kept going, showering Mako with praises until finally, Mako hummed a response. Nothing much, but enough to acknowledge his existence. He ran a finger across Jamison’s knobby back all the way down, earning him a raspy laugh. Jamison put his face against Mako’s chest and listened; his breathing was harsh and heavy, and his heart beat at a thousand miles per hour. _He’s exhausted_ , Jamison thought.

Then a couple of minutes passed. There was only quietness between them. Mako wasn’t one to talk much after sex, but the silence went on for a little too long. “What’s up, big guy?”

No response.

“Mako?”

“I’m getting too old for this.”

_Oh no._

Jamison backed away. _Not this again. Not now._

“Too old my ass! You literally turned forty-eight today, Mako, you’re only startin' to get old! Hah, I'm only forty-seven and look at me! Do I look old to you?”

“You haven’t aged a day, Jamison.”

“ _Th_ _ank you_ for noticing,” Jamison replied almost sarcastically. Maybe he sounded a little angry. He took a deep breath and leaned back down against Mako’s chest. “You’re not too old, Mako, you’re just…”

“Old.”

“...Aging like fine wine.” Mako chuckled at that. Jamison smiled, but the weight in his chest grew.

 

Thirty years ago, an eighteen year old Mako met seventeen year old Jamison in college. The two got along about as well as cats and dogs fighting over scraps of food. The tension between them was strong, and stronger still when things didn't go Mako's way. It didn’t really help that they were also roommates.

“Get your shit away from my stuff, Fawkes,” Mako growled at Jamison, who was laying in bed, shirtless, while scrolling through his phone. He eyed Mako over his phone and snickered. “Nah,” he said nonchalantly. The giant standing before him angrily snatched the phone away from his hands, and Jamison cursed at him as he got up on his knees and tried to get the phone from Mako’s hands.

“Get, your shit, away, from mine,” Mako glared down at Jamison and he glared back. Jamison got up on the bed completely, towering over Mako.

“Make me, _Rutledge._ ”

It took only several more insults, fist fights, and confrontations until the two found themselves hate-fucking every other day. Then they went from hate-fucking to friends-with-benefits-fucking to love-fucking over the span of eight years.

On the day of Jamison’s 25th birthday, the accident happened. Bedridden, unconscious and on the verge of death, Jamison had lost an arm and a leg and apparently the will to live as his body slowly weakened and hope seemed slim. Mako prayed. Mako prayed every day and every night, despite never being a man of religion. But whatever entity there was in the sky above had listened to his prayers.

Jamison said he saw the light. He said he didn’t want to follow it, but that the light approached him anyway. Jamison ran from it until he couldn’t run anymore. Then the light spoke to him. Told him he’d live forever. He didn’t believe it; thought it was his mind going crazy. Then he woke up and felt younger.

And then years passed and he didn’t age. Mako looked older and older, his hair going from that lustrous black to a silver white, his soft features hardening and beginning to sag. Older and older, while Jamison stayed the same.

 

Then came Mako’s forty-eighth birthday. Jamison pampered his old man and gave him everything and more. Love and care and fucking and everything else the man loved. But Mako wasn’t enjoying it.

 

“Like fine wine…” Jamison circled his thumb around Mako’s puffy nipple.

“Jamison,” Mako said lowly, his voice quieter than usual, “What will you do?”

“Let’s not talk about this, yeah?”

“Jamison—”

“ _Mako_.”

“Jamison, I’m not like you.”

“Stop.”

“I won’t live forever.”

“ _Stop!_ ”

Jamison almost bolted off Mako, walking around the room in circles with his hands tugging at his hair. He let out a frustrated noise and faced Mako’s tired old face. “Today was supposed to be _nice!_ ”

“It was—”

“ _It was!_ And then you went and ruined it talking about—about _that!_ ”

Mako got up. “I’m just worried,” he tried to approach Jamison, but Jamison backed away.

“And you think I’m not?! You think I don’t worry about this every single _fucking_  day?! Nah, mate, ‘course ya don’t.” Jamison refused to look at Mako. He looked at the floor; his face had reddened and Mako felt his heart sink to the floor. He took a step closer, and this time Jamison didn’t back away.

“I’m sorry, I…” words failed him. Words always failed him. _I didn’t want to bring this up. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry I said anything. I'm scared too. I don’t want you to be alone when I’m gone._ He could’ve said a thousand things, and yet…

He sighed. He took a few more steps forward and pulled Jamison close. He pet his messy, sweaty hair with one hand and held his hip with the other. He opened his mouth to say something when,

“I don’t want you to go,” Jamison weeped against Mako’s chest, arms wrapping around his thick waist.

The embrace was bittersweet. Cold and sticky and wet, but it was comforting nonetheless. Jamison’s foot hurt from standing too long and no doubt Mako’s feet felt worse, but neither of them moved for a long while. Mako let Jamison sob and slobber all over his chest, his arms trying their hardest to comfort the younger man until he calmed down.

“We should… We should clean up,” Mako suggested. Jamison pulled his face away and nodded slightly, sniffling and rubbing at his burning eyes.

“Yeah,” his voice cracked, “We should.”


End file.
